


As with Rosy Steps the Morn Advancing

by wyrmy



Series: Our Hopes of Endless Light [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Healthy Communication, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Softe fic, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), disability accommodation as love language, the mortifying ordeal of being known and the corresponding joy of being loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrmy/pseuds/wyrmy
Summary: Recovering from a lifetime of abuse is very difficult and not a linear process. Luckily Aziraphale has all the time in the world and a deeply understanding husband.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Our Hopes of Endless Light [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980841
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	As with Rosy Steps the Morn Advancing

**Author's Note:**

> "As with rosy steps the morn advancing drives the shades of night, so from virtuous toils well-borne raise thou our hopes of endless light." - Thomas Morell, Theodora.  
> That line is from one of my favorite arias from my favorite oratorio, and i highly recommend listening at least to it (" as with rosy steps" is the title) if not to the whole work, because it's transcendentally beautiful. And now you know what this series was named after!   
> This series is not done, though, as I have a couple more fics still in the works.

The morning sunlight was streaming in through the curtains and onto the bed, lighting up Crowley’s hair like fire. He scrunched his face up and grunted, trying to hide from the sunbeam.

“G’m’r’n’ng n’g’l,” he said.

“Good morning,” said Aziraphale with a sigh.

Crowley shifted a little towards him, and flung an arm over his lap where he sat upright in the bed.

“How’s my angel this morning,” he said sleepily into Aziraphale’s leg.

“Oh, I’m alright,” he said.

Crowley turned to frown up at him. “I know that look. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, dear. Everything’s fine.”

“Don’t you nothing me. If you don’t tell me I’m just going to worry about you all day.” He nudged Aziraphale. “C’mon. We talked about this, yeah? Just tell me.”

“It’s- it’s so silly-”

“Okay, it’s silly. I still want to hear it.”

“It’s not really anything at all. I just worry, I suppose… Um. I’m not a very good partner to you. That’s what it is. I know we’ve been over it, but you’ve always been so kind to me, and I…”

“Do you want to hear my perspective?”

“You’ve had to explain it to me over and over again. I know I’m being irrational, I just-“

“Hey, you’re okay. I get it. I swear I do. Takes a while for things to sink in. So it wouldn’t help you to be reminded of anything?”

“I feel enough of a fool as it is.”

“Would you like a hug?”

“Well I wouldn’t object.”

Crowley pushed himself up off the bed enough to hug his husband, albeit awkwardly.

“One of these days, angel, you’ll know that you can ask for things without being afraid of being rejected.”

“I’m not afraid of anything. Just because I’m not demonstrative-” Aziraphale shrugged Crowley’s arm off him.

“Oh I’m sorry angel, that’s not how I meant it.”

“I’m- trying to do everything properly. It’s difficult to rebuild one’s entire personality in a matter of months! Give me time, I’m sure I’ll be exactly what you want me to be!”

Crowley shut his eyes and turned away.

“I’m sorry Crowley. That was uncalled-for.” Aziraphale fought to keep the desperate edge out of his voice. 

“Yes.”

“I know you love me as I am. I just worry that- It was just a sensitive topic.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I guess that sounded like a criticism.”

“It did, rather. But I should have kept my head anyway. I didn’t at all take your comment in the spirit it was intended.”

Crowley reached backwards and gave Aziraphale an awkward almost hug, which transitioned into a real hug before long.

“I love you very much,” said Aziraphale, emboldened, perhaps, by the fact that he could no longer see Crowley’s face. 

“I know,” said Crowley.

“Oh drat, we’re supposed to attend that party today. How dreadful.”

“Well you’re the one who rsvp’d. I didn’t want to go, remember?”

“I was just trying to be neighbourly,” said Aziraphale, his face still pressed against Crowley’s soft hair.

“We don’t have to be neighbourly. We could be a pair of infamously misanthropic hermits. I can tell you which I’d prefer.”

“Oh you mendacious bitch. I happen to know that you attend the local knitting club weekly. Misanthropic indeed.”

“I only go there to complain about you, angel.”

Aziraphale harrumphed.

*

It was the sort of party Crowley hated, because there were high-ish stakes attached to his behaviour by dint of the fact that these were his neighbours and if he made an arse of himself today they would want to chat about it tomorrow. Even worse, some of the people there were his knitting ladies, who had truly CIA- grade dirt on him regarding several ongoing debates he had with his husband. This was also not the sort of party where lounging against the wall with a drink was likely to fly. People kept trying to make small-talk. 

He and Aziraphale quickly got separated in the cramped and doily’d little house, and it was a good half an hour before Crowley saw his husband again.

Aziraphale was talking to (or rather being talked at by) a very old lady who was only a little over half his height. Crowley knew her personally, because he may or may not have done some strictly demonic favours for her, such as buying her shopping. Aziraphale, who had been taking things easy for the past little while, and thus not going out, did not. 

He was bent nearly in two trying to get close enough to hear her tiny, rasping voice. His hands were clasped behind his back and Crowley could detect in the movement of his biceps that he was squeezing the one hand with the other rhythmically. That was not a good sign. Worse still was his facial expression, which was almost totally blank, except for a faint frown. 

Crowley fobbed off his interlocutor with a line about “talking fertilizers next week” and shoved his way through the assembled humans to get to his angel. 

“Hey, Vera, can I borrow him for a minute?” he said to the old lady. “Just need to ask him something.” And he hustled Aziraphale out of the room as fast as he could go.

Once in the bathroom, undetectable to human ears, Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s arm and leant back against the wall, so as to avoid crowding him.

“What’s this about?” said Aziraphale, but his voice was flatter than it ought to be. 

“You seemed pretty stressed. Looked like you needed a rescue.”

“That’s very kind,” he said in that blank, tired voice, “but I’m perfectly fine.”

“Do you really want to go back out there and get lectured at by any more little old ladies? Because you don’t have to. You could just stay in here with me.”

Aziraphale blinked at him and opened his mouth, but he said nothing.

“You don’t need to decide yet. There’s no rush.”

“Sorry,” said Aziraphale. He was looking off to the side, apparently at nothing. He often struggled to control his gaze when he was stressed. “I’m… not really sure what I ought to do.”

“S’okay. Would it be okay if I touched you?”

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley enfolded him in a hug.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said again.

“None of that,” said Crowley. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll do my best to post again in five days.  
> the second i heard a gay man (lovingly) use the expression "mendacious bitch" i knew it was something Aziraphale would say.


End file.
